


It's Time To Begin Isn't It

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baker Derek Hale, Developing Relationship, FBI Trainee Stiles, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, S6a compliant, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: When Stiles finishes his degree at George Washington, he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to enrolling in the FBI academy in Quantico. Eager to start his career in the agency, even more to put his past behind him, he doesn’t put much thought to the memories that he might find in the area. But then he stumbles upon something that brings back something he thought he left far behind... in ways he isn’t expecting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reaping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/gifts).



> Written for the [FandomWritingChallenge](https://fandomwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. My prompt for this month was **Bakery**.
> 
> My apologies to the FWC team for the delay in posting (and for going over the word limit). This managed to grow legs under me and turned into something bigger than I expected. And a massive thank you to Jenn for all the cheerleading when I was lost, and for the Beta read!

It’s a few weeks before he’s allowed off base. Half of his class is on the way out before Stiles even gets back to his room on the first afternoon that they get leave. His roommate, Evan, has tossed all his things on the bed, and Stiles only finds an empty room. Another classmate -- Sara, from the room across the hall -- asked him earlier in the day if he was driving out, and if she could tag along. But when Stiles glances towards her door, he spots her leaving. She gives him a quick wave and then he hears someone call out to her to hurry up.

Once he’s put away his notes and books, he checks his watch. He’s not meant to be calling his dad or Lydia, and Scott’s working late at Deaton’s. The cut-off for being out is midnight, but he knows he’ll have to be up at five for training again, so he wonders if it’s worth it.

He does miss driving Roscoe, though, so he heads down to the parking lot, figuring he’ll at least make sure the Jeep will start. When he got to DC four years ago, he was amazed that they made it, but somehow the tape and rust held Roscoe together. He’s even more amazed now that it’s still in driving condition after years of driving around Washington and even making summer trips back home.

When he has the engine running -- after a sigh of relief that there is enough gas in the tank to get to the nearest station -- Stiles decides to at least go for a short drive. He barely got to see anything but the dorms and the road to them when he arrived, as once he was there, he wasn’t allowed out for anything but classes and training.

The place is small. Smaller than Beacon Hills. Definitely smaller than Washington. It gives him comfort, somehow, knowing that he’s somewhere that seemingly peaceful, a place that he hopes is unlikely to attract the _special_ kind of hell. Only the regular human kind, which he’s here to learn how to defeat. It’s quiet, too, even though he can see people around, some in uniforms, others in civilian clothes. He takes note of places as he drives -- post office, pizza place, stores, mechanic -- just so he’s a little less lost the next time. They’ll be allowed to be out for the weekend unless there’s a special training session, and Stiles plans to go explore a little more. He gets back to base early that first night.

It’s surprisingly easy to change his routine from the first few weeks to include drives around Quantico in the afternoons. On weekends, he goes further -- sometimes he drives up towards DC to visit with the friends he’s made at GWU, other times he turns left instead and explores in that direction.

Almost a month passes before he does more exploring of Quantico itself. It starts with having to bring Roscoe to the mechanic, and while he really shouldn’t be able to, he gets to leave it in the local one. Being without a car for the day, Stiles chooses to stick close instead of finding someone from his class who’s driving out.

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised by how normal the base is, how it has all the amenities and shops that any small town would, but it still makes him wander around with curiosity. It’s quiet on the weekend, even more than during the week, because non-essential personnel get leave and most take the chance to visit family.

There’s a small place he spotted on one of his drives, off the main roads, with a name that had him do a double take the first time he saw it. It looked welcoming, warm, and intriguing at the same time even from afar, so he decides to check it out now that he’s on foot. It did look like a food place, and he does need to eat after all.

 _Laura’s Kitchen_.

The name is written in loopy handwriting, but still clearly legible. There are no curtains, but the name is also on the windows, the same script along with smaller notes on what the place is offering. Stiles is hungry just looking at the food options, and he speeds up towards the door. It’s at least part bakery, he realizes as he spots loaves of bread and various pastries laid out on a shelf behind the window by the entrance. Just as he reaches for the door, he startles and turns back to the shelf.

There, right in the center of the shelf, he sees a loaf of dark bread with a barely there layer of flour on top. But it’s not the bread itself that shocks him. It’s the flour triskele that’s on top, stark white against the dark brown of the bread itself.

 _Just a coincidence_ , he thinks, but even his inner voice sounds hesitant. Because there’s only so much coincidence that he could ever allow for, his natural suspiciousness already tracing it back to the common thread. He could possibly explain the triskele, or the name, as an isolated incident. The two together may be coincidental, no matter how much his current training and his previous experience triggers his inner alarms.

Then he opens the door, and instead of the bell he’s expecting, there’s a quiet but unmistakable howl that announces his presence.

His mind is still reeling when the kitchen door opens and Stiles stops breathing.

He heard updates from Scott, who got them from Isaac. He knew some things that Lydia told him when Jackson let pieces of information slip. And there was the summer after his freshman year when they needed information from an Amazonian pack -- it just so happened to be the one Cora had settled with.

So he knew that Derek was okay, that he was alive, and that he wasn’t coming back to Beacon Hills unless hell froze over. Not even in his wildest dreams -- well, maybe in _some_ \-- would he have imagined running into Derek in Quantico of all places.

“Stiles,” the man says, his voice as shaky as Stiles feels. “Marines?”

It takes a moment for Stiles to process not only hearing his name from Derek, but also the question that follows it. He shakes his head.

“FBI,” he says quietly, still standing only a step away from the front door, across the whole room from Derek.

It’s _Derek_ though, so Stiles knows that his answer will be heard. He notices that Derek’s eyebrows rise a little in surprise, and somehow that comforts him.

“That fits,” Derek says then, barely loud enough for Stiles to hear.

The room falls into silence again, and Stiles hesitates. In a way, he feels like they’re back in Beacon Hills, at the Preserve, and he’s trespassing on Derek’s turf. He feels silly thinking it, because Quantico is now _his_ place, and will be for the next several months. But he’s in what he’s now sure is Derek’s bakery or diner or whatever this place is, and he feels like he doesn’t quite belong. Like he should ask permission to be there.

“Relax, Stiles,” Derek says with a smile, and he throws the dishtowel over his shoulder. “There are no wolves to run you out of here.”

Stiles opens his mouth, and then closes it, words completely jumbled in his mind.

“Well, not until Cora comes visiting, then it might get dangerous,” Derek adds, and he steps out from behind the counter.

“Oh my god, who are you?” Stiles blurts out.

It’s unsettling and nice at the same time to see Derek this relaxed, to hear him joke and see him smile. Stiles isn’t entirely kidding with his question, because he can’t completely reconcile this man with the Derek he knew back in Beacon Hills. Sure, Derek had changed since that day at the Preserve, but he left town way before Stiles had a chance to get to see or get used to those changes.

“I see your lack of filter hasn’t changed,” Derek says, and he walks over to Stiles. “How is that going to work in the field?”

“Might not need to,” Stiles says, not pausing to think his answer over. “I don’t know yet if I’ll go out or stay on as an analyst.”

“You do have experience in solving mysteries,” Derek says. “Come here,” he opens his arms as he says that.

Stiles still doesn’t think, he reacts purely on instinct when he steps into the embrace, and wraps his arms around Derek at the same time as he feels his body be wrapped in a tight hug.

“I missed you,” he mumbles against Derek’s shoulder. “I’m glad you got out, but…”

“Yeah, me too,” he hears Derek say quietly. “It’s good to see you.”

Stiles pulls away after a while, but he does so with hesitation, wondering if it’s going to be the one and only time. He looks at Derek, and catalogs the changes he can see -- a few new laughter lines, slightly longer hair, and a lot less tension in his face than there used to be. The raised questioning eyebrow and the bright eyes are the same though, as is the twitch of Derek’s nose that tells Stiles that Derek is holding back on detecting chemosignals and scents.

“I didn’t expect you here, of all places,” Stiles says when they both move a step back. “I mean, I heard from Scott that you were on this side of the country, but … here?”

Derek pulls out a chair, and he nods for Stiles to sit down. The place is empty, so Stiles doesn’t feel guilty about distracting Derek from work. And really, now’s as good a time as any to at least share the Cliff’s Notes on the past few years.

As they talk, Stiles can’t help but marvel at the changes in Derek, the differences from the man he used to know before college. He used to wonder if Derek ever smiled in a way that wasn’t a mocking smirk or one accompanying sarcasm that only Stiles ever managed to match. Well, Erica had been close, but that… Stiles doesn’t dwell on that memory, like he doesn’t on so many others.

“You’re quieter than I remember you,” Derek remarks after some time. “You used to fill every silence with rambling, like it scared you when it was too quiet.”

“Honestly? I think it did,” Stiles admits. “Nothing happening usually meant that something _big_ was looming just around the corner. That didn’t change after you left, by the way.”

“I’ve heard,” Derek says with a nod. “Scott and Deaton kept me in the loop the last few years. I probably haven’t heard everything, but they gave me the abridged version.”

“I wasn’t sure if they were still in touch,” Stiles says, a little surprised at that information. “I mean, Scott mentioned you sometimes, but barely, and he hasn’t said anything in a long time.”

“They needed access to the vault about two years ago,” Derek explains. “Deaton tracked me down, and we’ve been talking on and off since then.”

“Did you know…?”

He wonders if he should be asking, wonders why he even wants to know whether Derek knew that they were that close, with DC only an hour’s drive away. He tells himself, in the silence that follows his question, that it doesn’t matter and that it’s no big deal that Derek didn’t contact him.

When Derek shakes his head, Stiles feels relief that he can’t quite explain.

“I knew you were in college, but Scott didn’t say where,” Derek says. “If I’d known you were at GWU…”

“Would you have called?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says quietly. “I wanted to forget everything about Beacon Hills, get away as far as possible.”

“Can’t say that I blame you,” Stiles says. “I mean, I would’ve gone anywhere. I wanted to stay close to Dad for college. But after senior year, after the Ghost Riders, I was honestly glad when Scott’s Dad pulled strings and got me into GWU.”

He glances up, past Derek’s head, and his gaze falls on the big clock on the wall.

“Oh shit,” he says, immediately standing up. “I’ve gotta go get Roscoe. And get back to the dorms. It’s not that late, but I don’t want to lose track of time and end up locked out. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, just not to _me_.”

Derek stands up too, and reaches out for Stiles when they pause by the side of the table. Stiles doesn’t hesitate this time either, stepping closer so he can wrap Derek in a hug.

“If you ever do end up locked out,” Derek says when they let go. “There’s a guest room above,” he points to the ceiling. “Just let me know.”

“You live above this place?” Stiles asks, because he didn’t think of that.

“Yeah, the building was sold with the apartment included,” Derek says, and he shrugs. “It’s nice, quiet, and the lack of a commute is great.”

“I bet,” Stiles says, shuddering at the memory of college and navigating public transport for the past four years. “Look, here,” he pulls out his phone out of the pocket.

Derek already has his own phone out by the time Stiles has opened a new entry, and they swap the phones to type in their numbers.

“Okay, I’ll be in touch,” Stiles says when he has his phone back, Derek’s number safely stored.

“You do that,” Derek tells him with a smile. “It really is good to see you again, Stiles.”

“You too,” Stiles says, and there’s no doubt in his mind that there’s nothing but truth to the words.

When he walks out the door, it’s not without looking back a few times, just to make sure that Derek’s really there, that it wasn’t a dream. Later that evening, his imagination does go a little wild, and now that Stiles has a recent image of Derek fresh in his mind, it’s who he thinks about before he falls asleep. He dreams, too, and while his old nightmares don’t return, the dream he has still leaves him unsettled in the morning. The details elude him, however, but he has learned not to be afraid of that anymore.

He doesn’t mention it to anyone, not even when he doesn’t remember his dreams some of the next few nights. There are only a few, after all, and most of the time he’s too exhausted from training to have any dreams at all.

 _Laura’s Kitchen_ isn’t empty the next time he goes over, and at first he can’t spot Derek anywhere behind the counter. He orders a burger and fries, and goes to settle at a table right next to the door. The shelf with freshly baked bread and pastries is close, and he can’t help but check the tops of the breads before he sits down. Some of them do have the familiar triskele on them, as do a few of the cupcakes -- and really, the fact that there _are_ cupcakes baffles Stiles -- but not every one this time.

He’s still looking at the icing when someone clears a throat behind him.

“Laura ran a bakery in New York, before…” Derek speaks while Stiles is still trying to calm down after the surprise noise. “She always had me in the back, baking, because according to her I had zero customer service skills.”

“Well…” Stiles starts, and a smirk tugs on his lips.

“Yeah yeah, I know, I was miserable then, and the furthest thing from sociable,” Derek admits. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t,” Stiles says, and they move towards the empty table. “I wish I’d known that you bake though, we could have had the best pack bonding times with all things sugary and sweet.”

“Because you all needed to be more bouncy and energetic,” Derek says flatly, and he rolls his eyes. “And it’s not like I had the amenities necessary anyway.”

“Man, for cupcakes? My Dad alone would’ve volunteered our kitchen,” Stiles grins as he speaks. “And for cake, even Melissa would have caved.”

Derek only smiles, and before Stiles can break the silence between them again -- not that he really wants to, it’s unusually comfortable in ways he’s deliberately not analyzing -- the waitress comes over with Stiles’ food. He bites in and lets out a satisfied hum at the taste.

“Man, this is amazing,” he says when he chews and swallows, very aware of Derek’s expecting gaze. “Seriously, this is not going to be good for my diet.”

“I’ll take the curly fries off the menu,” Derek says with a teasing grin.

“Don’t you dare!” Stiles exclaims and narrows his eyes. “That’s so unnecessary.”

They continue talking while Stiles eats, exchanging stories from the past few years that are barely related to anything supernatural. With people still milling about within earshot, the last thing Stiles wants is to discuss things that are best kept under wraps or in distant memories. Well, except for the werewolf across the table, but it’s not like anyone knows _that_ particular tidbit. When it does cross his mind, he can’t help but wonder, though.

“Hey, does your staff know…? Are they…?”

He doesn’t say the words, but his face likely conveys what he means. At least he hopes it does.

“All human except for a spark who doesn’t know he is one,” Derek says. “He did several small things that made me wonder, so I checked with Deaton some time ago and he suggested I let things play out naturally.”

“Don’t you have a pack Emissary?” Stiles blurts out.

“I would, if I had a pack,” Derek tells him, seeming unconcerned.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

He remembers the talk about Omegas all too well, the horrific fate of the one rogue that Scott told him about.

“Not here,” Derek says, and he glances out of the window. “There are hunters who come through occasionally, but they’re all adhering to the Code. Plus, military area kind of lowers the crime rate. And I’m pretty sure by now people would notice if I went missing.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Stiles asks quietly, because that’s still a mystery to him.

Derek shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “Not really. I checked this place out on Chris’ suggestion, because he knew the old owner, but that was it. And I am in touch with a local pack, but I’m not a part of it formally. Cora’s still my pack, partly, and Scott’s technically my Alpha. Like he was for Jackson all the years that he spent in London.”

“Yeah, I wondered about that for a while,” Stiles says. “I never quite understood the pack bonds, but apparently that’s due to being human. Or well, whatever it is that I am, or was, or…”

He doesn’t finish the thought, because it veers into memories that he isn’t fond of. But he figures that if anyone can understand that, it’s Derek, who has his own unpleasant experiences related to the same time that Stiles’ memories go back to.

“You might not feel the bond to the pack, not the way we do,” Derek tells him. “But the wolves in the pack do.”

“Oh?”

“We all know who’s part of a pack,” Derek explains. “Scott knows best, of course. But the rest of us… you’ve always been pack, even when you weren’t entirely yourself.”

“That’s a really nice way of saying ‘homicidal maniac’,” Stiles says, but it’s with a smirk on his face.

“Well, I mean, who am I to judge when it comes to that,” Derek shrugs, and he mirrors the smirk. “We all have our little quirks.”

“So, seriously, you know how I asked who you are and what you did with Derek Hale?” Stiles asks, and he tries to keep the smile off his face.

“You didn’t,” Derek replies in a deadpan tone.

“Okay, maybe I just thought it, but…” Stiles pauses, and then he tilts his head, an eyebrow raised. “Who _are you_ , and should I be looking for some sort of camera around here because I’m being Punk’d?”

“Just me, fangs and claws and all,” Derek replies, still smiling. “I’m afraid there’s no Ashton Kutcher hiding in the kitchen.”

“Aw damn, I got my hopes up for nothing,” Stiles mock-complains. “What exactly did I expand my horizon for if Ashton isn’t available?”

Derek raises an eyebrow in surprise, but it’s minute, and Stiles is pretty sure that if he had not been watching for Derek’s reaction, he’d have missed it. It’s a little comforting that he can surprise Derek this way, though he wonders how Derek missed Stiles’ interest in him in the past.

“So, you’re out,” Derek says, answering _that_ question.

“College,” Stiles says with a shrug that he hopes will convey all the explanations needed.

By the way Derek nods in response, it seems to do just that.

“Yeah, New York did that for me,” Derek adds, and he ducks his head down, eyes seemingly focused on the pattern of wood on the table.

It’s Stiles’ turn to be surprised, and he’s pretty sure that he does absolutely nothing to hide that he’s caught off guard by that declaration. He hates that he boxed Derek into a label in his mind for a long time, but can’t help thinking that it was partly to stop his own hopes from flying too high.

“Uh,” he manages to get out, hating a little how thrown he is by that piece of information that Derek seems to be implying.

“Haven’t had a boyfriend since college,” Derek mumbles, confirming Stiles’ guess. “And you know how the girlfriends worked out,” he adds just as quietly.

“Some of them, yeah,” Stiles says, words finally forming in his mind. “But I thought…”

“No, that was never going to last, not with her job involving hunting, and my history with all of that,” Derek says when he finally looks up. “I thought you and Lydia…”

Stiles is shaking his head before Derek finishes the sentence.

“I love her, and she did bring me back from the Wild Hunt because she loves me, but we managed exactly _one_ date and…” Stiles pauses and shrugs his shoulders. “We’re a good team, but not that good at dating each other.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek offers.

“Nah, don’t be,” Stiles says with a smile. “Lyds is great, I’m great, together we would have been… _not_ great.”

“So, she just brings people back from places with the power of true love,” Derek remarks, and Stiles’ mind goes right to where he knows Derek’s went.

“I don’t know if that’s what it was with me,” Stiles says. “I think we both just assumed that _love_ meant romance. That if we loved each other, it had to be that way. But it wasn’t. And what brought Jackson back was. Is. They’re it for each other.”

“Oh?” Derek looks surprised, like he didn’t know that Jackson, one of his former Betas, is back in the States.

“They’re… complicated,” Stiles offers as an explanation, though Derek isn’t asking out loud. “Jacks is part of a pack in London, Lyds is not leaving MIT until she has the degree she wants. But they’re each other’s _it_.”

“That’s gotta hurt,” Derek mumbles.

Stiles shrugs. He’s been in love with Lydia for years, at least he thought he was, but that’s all history. Since their kiss and declaration of love that brought him back from the Wild Hunt, he changed. It’s not her who is on his mind these days when he thinks about dating, about relationships.

He realizes a few moments later that Derek’s looking at him in confusion, and it’s probably because Stiles hasn’t said anything in a while.

“Still weird,” Derek says when Stiles meets his eyes.

“What, the silence?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah, though the fact that you still get lost in thought as much as before is comforting,” Derek tells him, smiling. “It’s reassuring that it’s still you.”

Stiles smiles back, finally starting to shake off the feeling that he’s talking to a stranger when Derek smiles and laughs. He wonders briefly how long it will take until it sinks in that they’re both different, that Derek has changed as much as Stiles has.

“ _Me_ was not always the best thing to be,” he says, looking down at the empty plate on the table.

“How about now?” Derek asks, like it’s not one of the hardest questions.

“I’m better,” Stiles says automatically, because that’s an answer he has given to others before.

“That’s not the first time you said that,” Derek responds, surprising Stiles by catching on to that.

“It’s true,” Stiles tells him. “It’s the best I’ve got. It just finally feels like it’s really how I am, and not just a platitude.”

Derek nods, and they change the topic after that, when the waitress brings over a plate with a selection of cupcakes. Stiles asks about them, and ends up taste-testing the flavors for Derek, who explains that he’s looking into expanding the menu.

It becomes a thing, Stiles coming into the diner and leaving with a batch of pastries or cake slices to get opinions on from his classmates.

“You know we’re all on a fairly strict exercise regime, right?” Stiles asks after the first two times, and Derek just laughs because he knows that Stiles isn’t going to decline the sugary goods.

It’s what he’s busy with during a free evening when he’s not out late for once -- he left a tray with cookies in the dining room, along with a stack of papers with ratings -- when one of the trainers comes in.

“Stilinski, office,” Agent Moreau says, and she snags a cookie before she leaves the room.

Stiles walks after her, internally cringing as he wonders what she wants to talk to him about. By the time they reach her office, he’s already prepared a thorough explanation for the sweet goodies he’s been bringing in, and is ready to apologize and promise to not do it again.

“Sit,” she tells him when she closes the door behind him. “These are great, but the peanut butter ones on Monday were better. Tell your baker that,” she adds, leaving Stiles perplexed as he nods automatically.

“Not _my_ baker,” he mutters after a beat, when her words register properly.

“You’re not in trouble for the pastries,” Agent Moreau tells him when he looks up at her. “I know Mr. Hale, and he’s been vetted thoroughly, so we know he or his baked goods are not a threat to anything but some people’s waistlines,” she comments with a smile. “I want to talk to you about your future.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Stiles says quietly, bracing himself for the worst news -- that he’s being booted out of the program.

“That depends on how you are with big decisions,” Agent Moreau tells him. “Look, we’re getting to the end of the program, and at this time I usually have a good handle on where a trainee will go after the last class. I know who’s going in the field and who’s staying around for intelligence and analysis. You though, you’re leaving me in a bit of a bind.”

“How so?”

“You have field experience,” she says. “Not official, not with training like you’re getting here, but I can tell that you’ve been out there already. That gives you an advantage for field work.”

Stiles stays quiet. It’s not like he can tell her that he’s been running around the woods of Beacon County chasing supernatural villains.

“But,” she continues, “you have the mind of an analyst. You see patterns in places where experienced agents would miss them, you connect things that no one would consider linking. You have a detective’s mind with the experience of a trained law enforcement officer. And I don’t know which way to recommend.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, again wondering if it means that he’s not a good fit for the FBI, and if she’s going to recommend that he change his career path.

“I called you in because I can’t make a decision, and no one else on the team can either. So, the question I’m going to pose, Mr. Stilinski, and one I want you to think about thoroughly, is,” she pauses and gives him a long hard look. “Do you want to head out to a local office somewhere in the country and be in the field, or do you want to stay on with us here as an analyst? You have until the end of the program to decide, but make sure you think about it and base your decision on the right things.”

Stiles sits in the chair quietly, unable to speak. He only leaves when she dismisses him with a comment about the cookies in the dining room, and how he should tell Derek about the peanut butter ones. That snaps him out of his surprise and he walks out, but instead of heading to the dining room to collect his surveys, he heads back to his room.

Since Evan is still out, Stiles falls down on his bed and lets his mind reel freely over the options he’s been given. Agent Moreau is right, it’s not going to be a simple decision, and he’s determined to make one that he’ll be happy with.

For the next week, he goes through the motion, the decision weighing on his mind, and Evan notes that Stiles is distracted. He tries to not let it show afterwards, especially when he goes into _Laura’s Kitchen_ , because he doesn’t want Derek to ask questions. He would love to say that Derek being in Quantico isn’t a factor in the process of weighing all his options, but Stiles can’t lie to himself. To his Dad, when they talk on the phone, he manages to deflect at least.

“I heard about Derek being there,” John says in the middle of a conversation, apropos of nothing. “Surprised you didn’t mention it.”

“Nothing to say, Pops,” Stiles tries to shrug it off. “Besides that we all apparently missed out on a lot of baked goodness.”

“Heard about that too, he sent a care package a while ago when the pups got stuck with the fairies,” John says with a laugh.

Stiles chuckles in response, remembering the photos that Scott sent him of Liam in a flower crown after the fairies decided that he’s a familiar. The hilarity of the picture was in the fact that it was just after Liam mastered his full shift, and that’s how the fairies found him.

They don’t dwell on the topic of Derek, and Stiles doesn’t bring up the dilemma of his choice after the training program. But of course, it’s Derek who picks up on Stiles’ problem when he still hasn’t come to a decision another week later.

“You’ve been quiet,” Derek tells him when they sit in the diner over coffee.

“Thought we already established that,” Stiles counters, cringing at how defensive he sounds. “I’m not that rambling kid anymore.”

“No, you’re not. Definitely not a kid,” Derek says, and there’s an edge to his tone that makes Stiles look up in surprise. “But you’ve been talking more than you have these past two weeks. What’s going on, Stiles?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says a little too fast.

“Stiles.”

“ _Derek_.”

“Look, if it’s something you don’t want to talk about, I’ll leave it,” Derek says, but he looks and sounds worried. “But something is bothering you, and if you need a sounding board, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says. “Give me another few days, and if I need to, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay,” Derek says simply, and to Stiles’ relief he doesn’t press the issue.

It’s nothing in particular that makes Stiles make up his mind in the end. He’s tempted by the field work, always has been, and after running with the pack he got accustomed to being in the fray of things. But ultimately, he knows that even there, he’s the one who puts pieces of the puzzles together, that he’s _good_ at the behind the scenes work. And being out there, armed and in the line of fire, is something that he always wished would come with less chance of getting hurt. It’s the one thing that made him consider the Bite -- not when Peter offered, nor when Scott did, but afterwards -- to become less susceptible to regular human injuries that he was always more prone to than even other people.

“So,” he starts before Derek even says hello when Stiles walks into the diner a few days before the training program is due to end. “The thing that I didn’t want to talk about…”

“You want to now?” Derek asks, and when Stiles nods, he drops the towel he’s been wiping the counter with and he leads Stiles over to a corner table. “Okay, how can I help?”

“You can’t,” Stiles says, and he watches Derek frown. “No, I mean, I had a decision to make, and I did. And I needed to make it for myself, without anyone’s influence.”

“Okay,” Derek says, nodding in understanding.

“Normally, once the training is done, recruits get recommendations for field or analyst specialties,” Stiles explains. “But I’ve been given a choice,” he says.

Derek doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at Stiles with a carefully blank expression. It should unnerve Stiles, but somehow it’s the perfect prompt to continue.

“I wasn’t sure,” he says, wringing his hands together, and he fixes his eyes on them instead of Derek. “I love being out there, being in the middle of the action. Always have, as you know.” He hears Derek’s chuckle, and it makes the corner of his lips curl up. “But I’ve also always been the research guy, the planner.”

He flashes back to the bank vault break in, where Stiles was the one figuring out the blueprints and the one who came up with most of the plan.

“Dad will be glad,” Stiles says, knowing too well that he just jumped several steps ahead.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy for you no matter what you decide,” Derek tells him. “And proud. He always has been.”

“I know. I’ve already decided, though,” Stiles says, and he finally looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Stiles watches as Derek’s face slowly goes through several expressions until it finally settles on relief and understanding.

“You’re staying,” he says simply.

“I’m staying,” Stiles says and he nods.

It’s only because he glances down at his own hands that he notices Derek’s twitch a little, like he’s considering moving it. So Stiles does what he wanted to do since he walked into _Laura’s Kitchen_ for the first time. He moves his own hand, turns it palm up, and lets it rest on the tabletop between them. Then he looks up at Derek again, and nods just enough for Derek to see.

“If you’ve decided to stay because of me...” Derek starts as he hovers his hand above Stiles’.

“Just an extra perk,” Stiles interrupts, and he closes the space between their hands.

When they touch, there is no spark, no big moment of revelation or an earthquake. Nothing but warmth between their palms, and Stiles smiles.

“So, is this a date?” Derek asks.

“I don’t know, are you paying?” Stiles laughs.

“Well, technically, if that’s what you define dating by, we’ve been doing it since you first came in here.” Derek smirks as he looks around the diner. “Because I don’t remember you paying.”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but he has to concede that Derek’s right.

“Aw man, I’m a cheap date, aren’t I?” He says instead, but it’s with a smile. “Guess we’ve gone right into the boring stage of dating.”

“You’re sticking around, I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it more exciting,” Derek smiles back at him.

“Bring your A game, sourwolf,” Stiles challenges. “Can’t wait to see it.”

Derek keeps smiling as he holds Stiles’ hand, and Stiles can’t help but think that his decision to stay couldn’t have been any more right.


End file.
